


the greatest films of all time

by whitenoisce



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Taylor Swift's the 1, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Songfic, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitenoisce/pseuds/whitenoisce
Summary: Mark trains his eyes on the pink peonies lining the aisle. They’re pretty and pink but that’s all there is to them. Mark wishes they had more details so he could focus on those instead of the way his throat’s closing in on itself.“I’ve always kind of imagined it was you who’d walk down that aisle, you know?”
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 50
Kudos: 172





	the greatest films of all time

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is inspired by taylor swift’s the 1, which if you don’t already know, isn’t a particularly happy song! i’m not sure why i thought this was the best way to make my first contribution to the johnmark tag, but welp. here it is. 
> 
> please note that the johnny that mark remembers in this fic does not necessarily reflect present day johnny in this universe! **people can change, but it doesn’t make our feelings from the past any less valid.**

“Who the fuck invites their ex to their wedding?” Donghyuck asks, settling his cup down with a harsh _clink!_ that sends foam spilling out onto the saucer. 

His face twists into this certain brand of repulsion Mark knows has nothing to do with spilled coffee, but he doesn’t blame him. He’s seen Donghyuck break glass at the mention of Johnny before. If anything he should consider himself lucky, this is nothing. 

“He’s not my ex,” Mark says, even though they’ve had this conversation a million times. “And his mom expects me to be there. It would be rude not to go.” 

“Rude?” Donghyuck’s voice pitches. “You know what’s rude? Stringing people along, Mark. That’s rude.” 

“ _Hyuck_ ,” Mark sighs, slipping off his glasses. “You know that’s not hi—”

“Then whose fault is it, _yours_?" Donghyuck scoffs. "We’ve been over this a million times and if you still think I’m going to allow you to step all over yourself then you’re wrong.” 

Mark deflates into his chair, feeling the life get sucker punched out of him with every word that comes out of Donghyuck’s mouth. It’s harsh, dripping with spite, and way too real for a cafe on a Sunday morning, but for the first time in three years Mark thinks it might be true. 

“The man’s getting married, Mark.” Donghyuck’s eyes have turned soft despite the edge in his voice just seconds earlier. His hand reaches out to rub circles on Mark’s wrists. “Don’t you think it’s time to let this go?” 

A shaky exhale escapes Mark as he looks out the window, tracing the raindrops that race themselves down the windowpane outside. Johnny never liked the rain, and Mark wonders if the rainy spell over the city would let up in time for the wedding. 

“Yeah,” Mark says after a while, voice cracking in the middle. “But I think I have to see it.” 

“You sure?” Donghyuck asks softly. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

“I have to see if he's happy, Hyuck.” Mark says, fingers hovering over the intricate calligraphy painted over the cardstock. _Johnny Suh + Lee Taeyong._ “And if he is, I’ll let this go.”

📽🎞🎬

Growing up, Mark never liked asking questions. He thinks it’s too invasive, going out of your way to seek out something when you could just stay put and not bother anybody. It works out fine most of the time. Usually, people give him enough information to work with anyway, and if they don’t, some other kid in class with more guts than him would take one for the team and ask for clarification. 

It doesn’t mean that Mark _doesn’t_ have questions though, because he does. There’s honestly too many of them floating around his head at any point in time to be considered healthy, but he’s never done anything about them. Some questions were interesting, sure, but none particularly important enough, personally value adding enough to raise his hand for, to open his mouth for, to swallow his pride for. 

So naturally, when he and Johnny fall into Johnny’s bed in a heated mess of tongues for the third time that summer, Mark finds himself at a loss for what to do. 

Johnny noses over his neck, sending a shiver down Mark’s spine before he’s sucking bruises too hard and too high above his neckline to be inconspicuous. The mouth on Johnny is crazy, ripping a whimper out of Mark, but it’s half hearted. The tone not as high as it should have been for someone whose cock is straining so hard in his jeans it physically hurts. 

Tonight, Mark’s head is somewhere else, and Johnny notices. He always does. 

“Markie,” Johnny pants, staring into Mark’s eyes so intensely that for a second Mark short circuits. “Where are you, baby?” 

Mark blinks. There’s a question popping into his head so much these days that it’s burned its way down his skull, slipped behind his eyelids as he slept, eventually slithering down his throat where it currently waits to be spoken into existence. 

They never used to be this insistent, and Mark doesn’t know how to deal with it. 

“Johnny,” Mark says, trying to buy his time. On top of him Johnny hums in response, lips devastatingly soft as he runs them across Mark’s jaw. “What is this?” 

Recognition flashes in Johnny’s eyes before the last syllable has even left Mark’s lips, and the weight is off of Mark’s body in an instant. Right away, Mark wishes he hadn’t said anything. This, whatever this is that they had was good, it was perfect, and Mark could’ve lived the rest of his life not questioning it. 

Johnny rests on his side with his head propped up on his hand, the other settling on Mark’s stomach. Mark thinks it’s supposed to be comforting, but it just makes his heart lurch into his throat. 

“What do you want it to be?” Johnny asks, voice low. 

“I don’t know,” Mark confesses, feeling a little stupid. “I’m just as confused as you are, man.”

Johnny hums again, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement in the rumble of his voice. 

“I’m not confused,” Johnny intones, tracing his fingers along the exposed strip of skin on Mark’s stomach. “Tell me, do you wanna stop?” 

“No,” came Mark’s answer, rolling off of his tongue without missing a beat. He doesn’t actually know if Johnny meant their arrangement, or the hand that’s inching dangerously close to his crotch, but his answer is no all the same. “Definitely not.” 

“Good,” Johnny chuckles as he presses down on Mark’s dick so hard that a choked off whimper escapes Mark’s throat. He’s gone, he’s so far gone and Mark will take anything that Johnny gives him. “That’s all I really need to know.” 

Johnny’s familiar weight hovers over him again and just like that Mark lets himself be swept away in a deluge of kisses, effectively throwing his brain out of the window with the rest of his thoughts in tow.

Needless to say, there’s not a lot of talking after that. Only when Mark comes down from the high of two orgasms and the morning finally lets him go does he realize that Johnny never answered his questions.

📽🎞🎬

The air conditioning inside the cathedral is blasting at full throttle, but Mark feels like he’s about to pass out. 

Donghyuck was right. This was a terrible idea. Mark should have just sent an expensive knife set with a Hallmark card and stayed home binge watching Mr. Sunshine. It definitely wouldn’t have been a happy ending, but he’d take a depressing war story over losing his shit in the middle of a wedding any day. 

God, what was he even doing here? He’s completely out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of excited guests and entourage milling around the venue. Everyone looks so damn happy, while Mark feels like he’s two labored breaths away from a full blown meltdown. 

He considers running away —just straight up bolting the fuck out of here and into the damp humidity of late August outside. He’d be in sweats by the time the ceremony starts, and by the time they’ve said their blasted I do’s he’d be two episodes in and completely in love with Lee Byunghun. It’s a win-win situation for everybody.

It sounds so tempting, but he echoes the words he said to Donghyuck a month ago and stands his ground. Mark _has_ to see this happen with his own eyes, else he’s going to spend the rest of his life regretting it. 

He’s already lost so many of his years to passivity, trudging the path of least resistance and forgiving everyone along the way at the expense of his heart. It’s created this never ending cycle of getting hurt and licking wounds that never heal, and Mark is exhausted.

At the very least, Mark owes it to himself to show up, stay put, and look his misery in the eye as he watches it all end. 

Besides, his slightly blurry vision tells him that’s Mama Suh walking towards him anyway. 

Mark wills himself to take a deep breath, and pushes forward to meet her halfway. Despite his nerves, the smile on his face comes easy. It’s no surprise, Johnny’s mom has always treated Mark like her own son, and Mark is nothing if not grateful for everything she’s done.

“Mark!” she exclaims with a smile so impossibly bright that Mark can’t help but mirror. She’s decked out in an elegant jumpsuit with her hair and make up all pretty and everything. Figures, she’s the mother of the groom after all. “I’m so glad to see you! Happy you could make it!” 

“Happy to be here, ma,” Mark finds himself saying. It’s true anyway, to an extent. Holy matrimony aside, the wedding is still a fun avenue to meet old friends and family. And Mark is genuinely happy to see Mama Suh after so long. 

“Oh Mark, can you believe it?” she asks, wrapping her hands around Mark’s arm. “I can’t believe the day’s finally here.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a really big day. Nervous?” 

“Of course, but mostly I’m excited for him. Johnny’s been looking forward to this day for the past year.” 

_The past year,_ Mark thinks. So Johnny’s been certain about marrying this guy for that long. Great. Amazing. Spectacular. Mark tries not to crumble. 

“It must’ve been fun planning all of this then?” 

“Oh you know how it is.” Mark doesn’t. “It’s not a wedding if no one’s breaking down over flower arrangements every two days. It’s messy business, but 'Yong’s been so hands on with everything. We really shouldn’t have hired a wedding planner!” 

Mark lets out a soft chuckle despite the tightening in his chest. “I guess Johnny’s a lucky man.” 

“He is, but Taeyong, too. They’re...they’re good for each other. I can see that now.” 

Mark can’t help but look at her in question. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s a little silly but,” she smiles up at Mark and squeezes his arm lovingly. “I’ve always kind of imagined it was you who’d walk down that aisle, you know?” 

Mark trains his eyes on the pink peonies lining the aisle. They’re pretty and pink but that’s all there is to them. Mark wishes they had more details so he could focus on those instead of the way his throat’s closing in on itself. 

“You and Johnny were so inseparable growing up, I just thought it made sense. And remember when you used to play pretend wedding in the backyard? I think you were 5, and when I came out to bring you boys some snacks I thought to myself, _well that looks about right!_ ” 

She chuckles at the memory and Mark tries to go along with her but he fails, a dry wheeze tumbling out of his throat instead. He’s long given up on trying to school his face into a look of neutrality, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when Mama Suh’s brows furrow at his expression, suddenly looking apologetic. 

“Mark,” she says, taking his clammy hands in hers. “You’re one of Johnny’s oldest friends. I'm not really sure why you guys grew apart the last few years but, I want you to know that he’s really happy that you’re here.” 

“Me too, ma,” he croaks. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

Mama Suh squeezes his hand one last time before she gets called away with the rest of the entourage by the door. With a reassuring pat on the back she instructs Mark to go on ahead and find his seat as the ceremony’s about to start. 

It’s a relatively small guest list, so Mark finds himself closer to the front than he’d like with a perfect view of the altar. He takes a look around, and everything is just as he imagined Johnny’s wedding would be. From the church, to the flowers, down to the color scheme of the entourage, it’s… everything Mark could have ever dreamed of. 

It almost seems like the wedding planner crept into his brain and stole the blueprints out of his dreams. Everything is the same, except they made a teeny tiny alteration in the grand scheme of it all. They looked at Mark once, twice, and over again and said “No, this won’t do,” and proceeded to rip him off of the picture. 

In his place instead is this beautiful son of a gun, soft laughter and pink hair and someone Johnny would actually kneel down for. Mark realizes he was an understudy in his own production, and his stomach churns at the thought. But before he could make his escape, a hush falls over the crowd and Mark ends up standing along with them as the opening notes of a march spill into the cathedral. 

This, too, plays exactly like Mark had imagined in his head, fingers already playing the chords from memory against the black of his slacks.

Johnny wouldn’t be caught dead getting married to Canon in D Major, and the day he came across the perfect track to replace it he barrelled into Mark’s room like the whirlwind that he was and shoved his airpods in Mark’s ears so he could listen.

And then Mark, too, vowed never to get married to Pachelbel’s Canon. 

Johnny finally makes his way down the aisle with Mama Suh on his arm, and Mark wishes he were sitting down. Because Johnny is beautiful, all smiles and crinkled eyes and everything that Mark’s heart has scarcely forgotten in the last three years. 

His eyes follow Johnny until there are no more strides, after he exchanges an intricate fist bump with Jung Jaehyun by the altar, and even as the rest of the entourage come spilling in. Mark’s eyes are on Johnny. Always Johnny. 

Their eyes meet for but a second, before the heavy wooden doors open and Mark loses him to the bright light flooding into the cathedral. 

Everyone’s head turns. Everyone except Mark. Mark looks forward. Mark looks at Johnny. 

📽🎞🎬

“Do you think there’s such a thing as the _right person_?” Mark asks, sprawled across Johnny’s sheets like a cat under the sun. 

He’s still shirtless from their mid-afternoon quickie, but they’ve been through this enough times to know there’s no point in redressing when there’s bound to be a round two waiting for them before the sun goes down.

“Uh, sure,” Johnny says absentmindedly, not looking up from where his fingers are cramping themselves on Mark’s guitar. 

“When do you think you’ll meet them?” 

Mark’s eyes follow Johnny’s fingers, smiling to himself when he figures out what Johnny’s doing wrong. He knows more than anyone how powerful those fingers are when they want to be, but he’s pressing too close to the fret line, making this god awful clicking sound that grates Mark’s ears. 

Johnny raises his brow. “Who’s to say I haven’t already?” 

Mark feels himself flush under his skin, and not because of the sun. Johnny chooses this exact moment to give up his dreams of becoming a Youtube cover artist to pad back to the bed. 

“You think so?” Mark asks, hating how hopeful his voice sounds.

“I mean, my mom didn’t marry my dad until she was like, 30. But they’ve known each other since they were in kindergarten, I think. I could’ve already met them.”

“Wow that’s...” He scoots over a little to make room for Johnny. “That’s like marrying Ten.” 

Johnny snorts against the pillow, and Mark fist pumps in his head for the slight ego boost and for having half the mind to supply a name that isn’t his. 

“As if I’d let Ten anywhere near my wedding, he already micromanages my life enough as it is.” 

“Have you thought about it then? Your wedding?” Mark asks, eyes flitting everywhere in the room but Johnny, who’s staring at him from under his bangs. It’s been getting long and _fuck_ —he said he wasn’t gonna look. 

Johnny hums, pensive. “Not really. You?” 

“Well, yeah.” Mark says. He’s given it some thought, and by some he means he’s got it all planned out. From the venue to the guest list to the type of cardstock they’d use on the invitations. “A little.” 

“So tell me. What’s Mark Lee’s big fat gypsy wedding like?”

Mark throws Johnny a glare and elbows him in the chest to a resounding _oof_ , but he tells him anyway. 

He tells Johnny that he wants it small, just friends and family gathering in a traditional ceremony. Maybe it’s the inner Christian boy in him, but yes, it has to be in a church. No buts. He tells him that the reception can be a little more relaxed. Outdoors with pretty fairy lights, grass under their feet and _no_ annoying games. Just a lot of singing and dancing with everyone he loves and some good fucking food. Another non-negotiable. 

Mark just goes on and on about it, so lost in his own daydream that he doesn’t notice how Johnny looks at him. Eyes dark and intense, lapping up everything Mark has to say. By the time Mark finishes, the sun has hidden behind the clouds and the air is starting to cool against their skin. 

“So there,” Mark says shakily, not realizing just how close they’ve gotten since he started rambling. “Uh, Johnny?” 

“Fairy lights, huh?” Johnny croons, pressing Mark so much closer that they’re breathing the same air. “I can fuck with that.”

📽🎞🎬

Somewhere in between the cannolis debuting on the buffet table and the sky completely going dark, Mark finds himself slipping out of the party. 

The ground beneath his feet transitions from slightly sinking grass to solid cobblestone —which his shoes are thankful for, but still even out here the smell of damp earth clings to the air like a lover, and Mark tries not to think of how much it used to bring him comfort. 

Instead, he sits at the edge of the unused fountain, fingers fiddling with the thumbwheel of the Fujifilm Flash 400 in his hands because _of course!_ Of course there would be disposable cameras at Johnny Suh’s wedding. It wouldn’t be right if there weren’t. 

“ _Help capture our love, laughter, and happily ever after!_ ” said the little card that came with it. And God, Mark would throw up in his mouth if only he didn’t wish he’d come up with it in the first place. 

Already he’s used up all 36 shots, and Mark’s glad these things aren’t labeled with guest names or anything because he wouldn’t know how to explain why the entire film reel is just... Johnny. Johnny entering reception. Johnny cutting cake. Johnny downing a shot. _Johnny Johnny Johnny_. Thirty-six whole frames of the most beautiful thing the film will ever touch. 

He seriously considers just pocketing it home for him to keep, but the sound of footsteps interrupts him before he could think further. 

“Those are gonna be a pain in the ass to develop.” 

Mark looks up to see Ten, walking towards him with a flute of champagne in one hand. Mark hasn’t seen him in forever, but he gets a whiplash of university when Ten would slump next to him in the library with his obnoxiously loud iced latte, ready to spill the day’s tea. 

“Yeah? Just how many of these are there?” Mark asks as Ten plops next to him with a huff.

“Too many.” Ten scrunches his nose. “That analog shit’s expensive. And that’s not even factoring the extra fee they charge for disposables. A service fee. For dismantling a piece of plastic. Can you imagine?” 

Ten takes a sip and Mark chuckles. He’s accompanied Johnny to the labs before and they _did_ charge a little extra for ground shock or something like that. He wonders how much the prices have inflated in the last few years, seeing as he hasn’t been back there since… well, Johnny. 

Mark opens his mouth to say something about how the Suh’s are swimming in money anyway, but an explosion of laughter rings from the party they just left and just like that, his words die in his throat. Suddenly he’s exhausted.

“I thought you weren’t going to show, to be perfectly honest.” 

“You and me both,” Mark says, lips twitching up in a confused smile. He didn’t expect to stick around after the ceremony either, but lo and behold, here he is, taking a breather outside the reception because even though he’s strong, he’s not _that_ strong. 

“Have you talked to him yet?” Ten asks carefully, scooting closer. Mark appreciates the effort to keep the name out of the conversation.

“Not really.” After a beat, he adds. “I don’t think I will either.” 

Mark expects a quip about his shitty wedding etiquette, or a raised brow at least, but Ten only nods. 

“I get that,” Ten says, stretching his legs out. “I wouldn’t talk to anyone who treated me like shit either, let alone show up to their wedding. So props to you!”

Ten raises his glass in mock cheers, then downs the whole thing in one go. Mark chuckles at the theatrics. 

Save for the backhanded compliment, Ten sounds so much like Donghyuck during their many arguments about Johnny that it’s almost unnerving. Mark always hated those when they happened, not only because he and Donghyuck rarely ever fight, but also because he _knows_ full well that Donghyuck makes absolute sense. 

Still, no matter how hard he tried, Mark couldn’t shake off the possibility that he and Johnny could still happen somewhere down the line. It was unlikely, since they stopped speaking, but every night before he went to sleep, Mark would close his eyes and hold on the fact that he knew Johnny, inside and out, in more ways than one. And you wouldn’t let just anyone know you like that if they weren’t at the very least, important to you. Right?

Wrong, apparently. Because while Mark was spending the last three years moping and wasting his wishes on a fairytale ending, Johnny was actually out there creating his own happily ever after with Taeyong. And now they’re married, and where does that leave him?

Mark sighs, turning away from Ten’s gaze to stare at the water. There are several stray pennies on the bottom of the fountain, and Mark wonders if it’ll do him any good if he tossed one in himself. 

“Do you have a penny?” 

“Uh, no?” Ten raises his brow. “Do you accept Visa?”

Mark snorts, rolling his eyes. He doubts the gods would accept plastic even if it had a non-existent credit limit. Wish currency only operates on legal tender. 

“What were you going to wish for anyway?” Ten asks. 

“I don’t know,” Mark breathes, because he really doesn’t. He’s got his old spiel ready to fire at the back of his mind but it’s a little too late for that now. “Maybe just to make it through the night? Something like that.” 

Mark doesn’t wait for Ten’s response and closes his eyes, leaning his body back on his hands at the edge of the fountain. Even with his eyes shut, the warm lighting around the estate still finds a way to bleed behind his eyelids, pulsing at his vision and dotting at the edges. Next to him Ten shuffles for a couple seconds and then they just sit there, sounds of merriment from the party punctuating the air every now and then. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to hang around you know,” Ten says, after a while of silence. It takes Mark a couple seconds to realize that he was being spoken to, and when he does he cracks his eyes open to look at Ten in question.

“If you feel like you can’t take it, then just up and leave. No one’s stopping you,” Ten straightens up in his seat. “You don’t owe him shit.” 

“Not even a congratulations?” Mark scoffs, still staring at the lights. 

“No.” 

There’s so much certainty in Ten’s voice that for a second Mark’s blood freezes. Out of everyone in their friend group, Ten was the only one who knew what was going on _while_ it was happening. The hardened look on his face now tells Mark that he must’ve never approved of it ever since. 

“Johnny was such a dick to you,” Ten says, point blank. “I really wish I could have done something about it, because you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does. But he wouldn’t listen to me, and I’m sorry.” 

Mark nods but keeps quiet, because there’s really not much else to say, is there? It’s true that Johnny _was_ a dick, and it's true that Mark did _not_ deserve that treatment. But it’s been ages. What else can he do but move on? Everyone around him seems to be doing that just fine, it’s time Mark should too. 

“But just because it already happened, doesn’t mean you have to be okay with it.” 

“What do you want me to do about it then, just be angry for the rest of my life?” 

“If that’s what feels right to you, Mark,” Ten shrugs, and Mark can’t believe his ears. “I’m pretty sure you’ve earned the right to be angry after all that’s happened. Johnny didn’t even apologize to you, did he? And even if he did you’re not obliged to forgive him.”

Mark lets Ten’s words stew in his head in silence. He gets it, because the sentiment doesn’t stray too far from Donghyuck’s drunken lectures when they finish a bottle of red on a Friday night. But there’s just something about hearing it from Ten, who is undeniably more of Johnny’s friend than Mark’s, that makes it all feel so real. Mark suddenly feels like he’s allowed permission to feel angry, and this whole time he never considered how much it really took out of him to not be. 

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to pretend to have fun while he flaunts his happiness in your face,” Ten says. “You deserve to find happiness too, and I doubt you’d find it here.” 

It punches an odd laughter out of Mark, and Ten smiles at having heard the younger laugh for the first time that night. 

“You seriously look like you wanna bolt, so I'll get out of your hair," Ten laughs, standing up. "But for the record? I missed you, Mark. It’s really nice seeing you again.” 

“You too, Ten,” Mark says, and he means it. Ten's always been good at these things, and Mark makes a sticky note in his head to invite him out for coffee one of these days as thanks. It’s been a while. 

“Alright, now scram. I know you want to, and I have to make sure no one dies in there,” Ten says, seemingly annoyed at having to be on care duty but Mark knows he’s anything but. At the end of the day it’s still his best friend’s wedding, and he was having a lot of fun before he came out here. 

Ten extends a hand to him, which Mark gratefully takes to haul himself up. His ass has kind of died after sitting on hard cement for so long, but his head is so clear that he nearly doesn’t mind. 

“I’ll see you around, Ten.” 

“Mhm, number still the same? Let’s get brunch one of these days.” 

“Yeah, I’ll hit you up,” Mark says, and Ten shrugs before he’s turning back to the cobblestone path that leads to the garden.

Mark stands there for a while, just existing and trying to grapple with the fact that he can just go straight home now. Ten was right, nothing’s stopping him. The parking lot’s right behind, and he brought everything he had with him out here when he left, including the camera. 

It sits there on the fountain edge, looking up at Mark as if waiting for a decision. He no longer feels like taking it home, definitely not after that conversation. But he also doesn’t wanna have to go back in there just to drop it off by the pretty wicker baskets. 

The answer comes surprisingly easy to Mark, considering all the indecision he’s grappled with all night. 

Those shots might have been the best damn photos he’s ever taken in his life, but the subject isn’t someone he has to acknowledge anymore. Mark can move on with his life without having to keep everything inside himself, nor surrender them to someone who won’t care. 

And so Mark does just that. He leaves the camera where it is and walks away. 

**Author's Note:**

> friendly reminder that you don't have to forgive people if you don't want to. :c
> 
> The song the plays during the wedding is Jaeman's [With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsAb1SwgiEc). It's a beautiful song!
> 
> come talk to me on twitter: [@whitenoisce](https://twitter.com/whitenoisce) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/whitenoisce)!


End file.
